Chuck vs the Jackpot
by ne71
Summary: Chuck hits it big.
1. Chuck vs the Jackpot

_This is probably the closest I'm going to get to writing crack fic._

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**Chuck vs the Jackpot**

It wasn't in Sarah Walker's nature to oversleep. Under normal circumstances, she would have already been through her usual workout routine, then a long stretch, an even longer shower, and after getting dressed in her work clothes, a quick stop at the bagel place down the street for coffee and a chocolate scone.

But this morning, the bed had just felt so _good_. And after a few taps of the snooze button, Sarah now found herself to be late for her cover job. And even though it was just a cover job, Sarah hated being late for anything.

So, when she heard a knock on her door while simultaneously applying her makeup and checking that her throwing knives were in place (being very careful not to confuse one hand with the other), she was less enthusiastic than usual to see Chuck through the peephole.

Sarah opened to door to let Chuck in, barely saying hello before rushing back to her vanity.

"Sorry, Chuck, but I'm running kind of late this morning."

Chuck didn't respond. He wandered into Sarah's hotel room, pausing to look around for a moment before finally remembering to close the door behind him. Sarah, only slightly aware of Chuck's silence, continued talking.

"You know, that alarm clock you got me is really nice, but the snooze button is way too big."

Chuck sat down on the edge of Sarah's bed, watching as she got ready.

"I don't suppose you have any kind of upward feedback towards the manufacturer, do you?" Sarah continued. "They should have some sort of restriction on the snooze button. Like, you can hit it once, and then if you try to hit it again the alarm gets louder."

Chuck nodded absently. "Um, Sarah?"

"Or, wait a second, this is a great idea - you have to finish some kind of puzzle to get a second snooze in, you know? Make the person work for it. Like, you've got to solve a Rubik's Cube or something."

"Sarah, I have something to--"

"I mean, if you're awake enough to solve a Rubik's Cube, you're awake enough to start your day. So, by the time you've solved it, you don't want to go back to sleep anymore. Hey, do they make a combination alarm clock - slash - coffee maker?"

"Sarah!"

Sarah finally whipped her head around and looked fully at Chuck. He was pale. He looked shell-shocked. He was dressed for work, but had a glassy-eyed look on his face. She stood up and walked over to him.

"What's wrong?"

Chuck took a deep breath, and seemed to steel himself. "Okay… um… don't freak out…"

"Chuck, what is it? Are you okay? Have you been drugged or something?"

"No, no, it's not that. It's just… uh…"

Chuck stood up and started pacing. He pulled nervously at his tie, looking at Sarah and then looking away.

"Chuck, remember when you asked me not to freak out? You're kind of freaking me out, now."

Chuck finally stopped pacing and faced Sarah again. He took her hands in his.

"Sorry. Sorry. I just… I probably should have called first, or something. Warned you that I'd be coming, I guess. It's just… I'm just trying to figure out how to tell you…"

Chuck paused. Sarah closed her eyes.

She knew this moment would come, some day. But why now? Her mind flew through the past few days for something, anything that had happened to trigger Chuck's obvious need to confess his feelings for her. There were moments, for certain; a hand held too long, a gaze that lingered, a touch here and there that felt just a little too warm, a little too real. But nothing more so than their usual behavior - and perhaps that in and of itself was it. Maybe it wasn't any one thing, but the sum of all things. For theirs was a dance to which they knew the steps all too well, and--

"…I won the lottery."

--like all dances, this one had to come to an end at some--

Wait a second.

Sarah stared at Chuck for a long speechless moment. Finally:

"YOU WHAT???"

* * *

_Yep. The "Jackpot" is literal. _

_I bet you're wondering where I'm going with this. Well... I am, too._


	2. Casey vs the News

**Chuck vs the Jackpot**  
**Chapter 2**  
**Casey vs the News**

"YOU WHAT?"

Casey stood up from Castle's conference table, that one vein in his neck throbbing out a beat to some murderous tune. Chuck gulped and took a tiny step closer to Sarah. He cleared his throat.

"The… uhm… lottery. I seem to have, well… won it."

The vein picked up the tempo, but the song remained the same. "Bartowski… are you telling me that, in your complete and utter moronity-"

"Point of order, I don't think 'moronity' is actuallyurk-" Chuck was interrupted by Sarah elbowing him in the ribs.

"As I was saying, in your complete and utter moronitude-"

"That's… um… better?"

"-you've been buying _lottery tickets_? What part of _secret government asset_ don't you understand, Bartowski?"

"Chuck hasn't actually been buying the tickets, Casey," Sarah interrupted. "You may want to sit down for this next part."

"Because it gets worse than Bartowski being a millionaire?"

Chuck and Sarah exchanged a nervous look. They both turned back to Casey and nodded. Casey breathed in deep and folded his arms. "Tell me."

Sarah sighed. "Chuck pitched in on the tickets along with a group of other people."

Casey's eyes narrowed. "Other people? Who were you-" Realization set in, and his eyes widened. The vein missed a few beats. "Oh, no."

Sarah nodded. Casey finally slumped down into a chair. "How many of them?"

Sarah turned to Chuck, who started counting on his fingers. "Well, let's see… there's Morgan, Anna, Jeff, Lester… and me. So, five. That's all."

"That's ALL? You don't consider five idiots with a significant amount of money to be a security threat, even casting aside the fact that one of them is a sensitive intelligence asset?"

"Well, I would first have to take issue with your calling all of us-"

"How much?"

"Um… what?"

"How… much… money, Bartowski?"

Chuck looked down at his Converses. "Roughly three… hundred… million, I think?"

Sarah piped up. "Three hundred and twenty three million and change, to be a little more exact. Of course, if they take it in a lump, up-front sum, after taxes, they're looking at somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred million. So, split five ways, that's-"

"I'm sure Casey can do the math from here, Sarah," Chuck said, patting Sarah on the arm.

"Twenty million dollars," Casey said, rubbing his forehead. "Bartowski, what were you thinking, joining in on this? You couldn't just back out when they approached you to collect money for their little pool?"

Chuck cocked his head. "Are you kidding me? I mean, I'm not a big believer in sitting around, buying lottery tickets and waiting to win, but when the jackpot gets this huge, and they start passing the hat, I'm not going to be the only chump that has to show up to work when everyone else hits it big."

Casey seethed for a moment, then furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute. How come no one ever asked me to chip in?"

Chuck dug his hands into his pockets and shrugged, but had trouble meeting Casey's eyes. Sarah finally smiled smugly.

"They don't like you."

"What?"

"Now, Sarah-"

"You're mean to them, and you threaten them all the time, so when it came time to buy the tickets, they decided to leave you out." Sarah seemed to be really enjoying conveying that particular bit of information. "Looks like you're the only chump who has to show up to work on Monday, Casey."

The vein went from keeping the beat to communicating via Morse code. "If it's any consolation, I was pulling for you, Big Guy," Chuck offered weakly.

Casey managed to create an entirely new growl for the occasion; one Chuck would later describe as the "You Left Me Out Of The Lottery Pool" growl. Reserved, of course, for very specific occasions.

"Briefing with Beckman in five minutes," Casey managed to articulate through violently clenched teeth. "And bring your boots, because you're going to up to your ankles in it."

xxx

"Casey said boots, but it really should have been hip waders," Chuck groused as they walked to Sarah's car through the BuyMore plaza parking lot. "You wouldn't think a high-ranking government official could curse like that."

"Yeah, that thing about your lower intestine was frightening. And surprisingly creative."

"I know! She could write science fiction."

"Well, at least she's letting you keep it," Sarah said brightly, nudging Chuck with her shoulder as they walked.

"I don't see what other choice she had," Chuck replied. "Morgan and the others know I pitched in, so how would she have kept me from collecting?"

"She could have done the thing with the South Pole and the penguins and your spleen."

"I thought that was polar bears."

"No, polar bears are indigenous to the arctic regions. Penguins are indigenous to the Antarctic."

"Why do you know so much about penguins?"

"One of my many talents."

"Right. Because you never know when penguin expertise is going to help you bust up a Moldovian slavery ring."

"I don't make the rules, Chuck; I just learn as much as I can about flightless waterfowl and wait to reap the benefits."

"I see," Chuck said, smiling. They reached Sarah's car.

"Need a lift?" Sarah asked.

"Well, I don't give my notice until after the others pick up the check tomorrow, so technically I'm still a BuyMore employee," Chuck said. "I could take a Herder."

"Nice to see wealth hasn't changed you."

"Oh, it has. I'm picking up some solid gold underwear on the way home."

"Really?" Sarah asked, scrunching her nose. "I always figured you for a platinum kind of guy."

"No, no, Sarah. Platinum chafes."

"Good to know."

The two stood face to face, smiling for a moment. Finally, Sarah's expression grew just a little more serious. "Chuck," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let it." Off Chuck's confused look, she continued. "Change you, I mean. The money. Stay Chuck, okay?"

Chuck's mouth quirked up into a slight grin. "You wouldn't like a precious metal underwear-wearing Chuck?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd like just about any version of Chuck," Sarah replied. "I just…" She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of his tie. "…I like this Chuck the best."

Chuck beamed for a moment; then shrugged good-naturedly. "If a year and a half of the hardcore spy life hasn't changed me, I don't see how a measly twenty million bucks will."

Sarah smiled wide. "Also good to know."

They lingered for a moment longer, until finally Sarah gave a little wave and got into the Porsche. Chuck watched as she drove away.

"Of course," he said, as he turned to walk towards the row of Herders, "a few upgrades couldn't hurt."


	3. Jeffster Rising

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I still don't really know where I'm going with this, so if you have a suggestion feel free to drop me a line._

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**Chuck vs the Jackpot  
Chapter 3  
Jeffster Rising**

Chuck had to admit that Morgan's improvised rap about Emmitt's pedigree and hygiene, with Jeff and Lester accompanying him on dueling beatbox solos, was surprisingly articulate. And well-choreographed. Chuck made a mental note to ask Morgan how many N-Sync videos he'd been watching on the sly.

As per General Beckman's orders, Chuck had bowed out of the check presentation ceremony, claiming camera-shyness. It wasn't that far from the truth, considering that General Beckman swore she'd tie his (expletive deleted) into a (expletive deleted) with (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) hedgehog (expletive deleted) and a (expletive deleted) frying pan if a single flashbulb went off in his face during the next fifty years. Chuck felt it was a small price to pay to protect his (expletive deleted). He made a mental note to send Beckman some medal polish as a thank-you.

Morgan had, of course, insisted on everyone getting a giant Styrofoam check, so bringing that to the bank away from prying eyes had been a practice in stealth techniques. Still, it had been worth it to see the look on the teller's face. Chuck made a mental note to send her a gift certificate to replace the blouse she'd drooled on.

Now, watching as Morgan, Jeff, and Lester went into their big finish with a kick line, Chuck felt strangely unsettled. The BuyMore had been his safety net for so long, and now it that net was about to be gone. He'd always thought he'd be leaving because of his own accomplishments - finishing his degree, getting a real job, starting a software company - not because of blind fortune.

"Nice suit."

Chuck turned, pulled from his musings by Sarah's voice. She took in the full view of him, nodding her approval. "Looks even better from the front."

Chuck blushed and pulled at the collar of his shirt. "Never owned a tailored suit before. Thought it'd be nice to have. Usually my ape arms are hanging out at the sleeves."

Sarah stepped closer and adjusted his tie. "Well, this one definitely fits you right. What's the occasion?"

"I wanted to look really, really good when I broke the news to Emmitt."

"I think Morgan and the others may have let the cat out of that particular bag."

Chuck turned to see Morgan, Jeff and Lester mooning Emmitt. He turned back to Sarah and winced as a dull pain began to form behind his eyes. "Please never make me look from something as pretty as you to something as disturbing as that ever again."

"He seems a lot less offended by this part than the rest of the song."

"And, now a mental image to accompany the visual. My retinas and my cerebral cortex thank you."

"We aim to please. When do you meet with Emmitt?"

Chuck braved a glance over his shoulder and saw the trio bowing to the applause of their co-workers. "Looks like the Notorious Jeff, Morgan Grimes, (and Lester) are finally done, so once Anna's finished with her interpretive dance, it's my turn."

"Okay. Beckman's team is done vetting the lawyers and the accountants, so whenever you're ready, we can go meet with them."

"Lawyers? Accountants?"

Sarah cocked her head. "Well, yeah, Chuck. You need to protect yourself."

"From the Fulcrum lawyers and accountants?"

"Very funny. From bad people who want to scam you out of your money." Sarah looked Chuck in the eye. "Take it from me. They're out there."

Chuck gulped. "Well. Since you put it that way."

Sarah smiled sweetly, and brushed imaginary lint off Chuck's shoulder. "You really wear that suit."

Chuck smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could--

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our dear friend Charles."

Lester stepped next to Chuck and patted him on the shoulder. "How does it feel, Charles?" he asked, his voice strangely full of menace. Jeff wandered over, falling into place next to Lester.

"Kind of nice, but at the same time creepy. Please stop touching me."

Lester took his hand off Chuck's shoulder and huffed. "Not this. I mean, how does it feel to be a twenty million dollar peasant? With our combined net worth, Jeff and I could buy and sell you. Do you realize that?"

"Lester, if you bought me, then I'd have forty million dollars and you guys would have twenty million dollars, and… well, me. You'd have to sell me to someone with twenty million dollars and a very strong Bartowski fetish to get back to where you are right now. Personally I don't see how it's worth the effort."

"Oh, it's worth the effort, Charles," Lester breathed. "If for no other reason than to see you finally brought down off your pedestal."

"I'm not on a pedestal, Lester. I'm just, like, seven feet tall." Chuck turned to Jeff. "How you doing over there, Jeff?"

"Good," Jeff replied in a monotone.

"Hey, are you guys getting lawyers?" Chuck asked. "Sarah suggested it, and it seems like a smart--"

"Lawyers!" Lester exclaimed. "Oh, that's brilliant, Charles. Give someone else complete control over your fortune. No, Jeff and I have a much more sensible plan. Would you care to hear it?"

"Not without a gallon of ibuprofen first," Sarah muttered.

Lester moved closer to Chuck and stood on his tiptoes in order to whisper into Chuck's ear. Even after that effort, he still couldn't quite reach.

"Lean down," Lester snapped.

"I really don't want to."

"You're ruining the dramatic effect of the moment, you know that?"

"I think I'll live."

Lester thumped back down onto his heels and huffed again. "Fine. I'll say it for the world to hear." He grabbed Jeff by the shoulder and alternated between gazing intensely at Chuck and Sarah with every word:

"Jeffster. World. Tour."

Now it was Chuck and Sarah's turn to gaze back and forth, this time between Lester and Jeff. Finally Jeff spoke up.

"I know, right? Miiind blowing."

Sarah looked sideways at Chuck. "That's a good way to put it."

"You guys are seriously going to spend forty million dollars on orchestrating a karaoke world tour?" Chuck asked.

"The karaoke world tour," Lester hissed. "37 cities spread throughout the globe, starting with New York, then a whirlwind escapade through Paris, Milan, Tokyo, Prague, Minsk, and Poughkeepsie, among many others. Then right back to sunny Los Angeles for our finale."

"I see," Chuck drawled. "I'm assuming we're talking about nice, um… intimate venues?"

Lester scoffed. "Try the largest stadiums each city has to offer," he boasted. "30,000 seat minimum."

Sarah slapped her hand up to hear head. Chuck felt the same way, but tried to tread lightly. "Um… guys, maybe this isn't the best way to spend your money. I mean, there are a lot of factors to consider, here. Promotion, security… therapy…"

"We have all of that covered," Lester smiled. "We've hired the best manager in the business."

As if on cue, the doors to the BuyMore slid open. All the participants in the conversation turned to look as an older African-American man with grey hair standing stiffly on end strode through the doors.

"Don King," Lester said grandly, "Charles Bartowski and Sarah… something or other."

Sarah's mouth dropped open. Chuck's eyes rolled back in his head, and he shuddered for a brief moment. Sarah noticed, and covered it up by stepping in front of Chuck to shake King's hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. King."

"This will be the fight of all time!" King proclaimed.

"Concerts," Lester whispered. "They're concerts."

King didn't miss a beat. "Of course they are," he boomed. "Every venue this talented duo plays will be a struggle against mediocrity and banality! If that isn't a fight, I don't know what fighting is!"

There was an awkward silence. The others in the group looked around nervously.

"Ten percent of the gate, am I right?" King directed at Lester in a sotto voice.

"You're the king, King," Lester replied. "Well, we've got planning to do. Charles, Sarah, if you're ever in Hong Kong, we'll have a half off coupon waiting for you at Will Call." Lester turned on his heel and walked out, followed moments later by a sluggish Jeff, who waved goodbye. King turned to Chuck.

"Do you validate parking?"

Chuck cocked his head. "It's… um… free."

"Free!" King repeated, eyes wide in horror. "I'll have to speak to someone about that. Wasted opportunity!" He turned and followed Jeff out.

Sarah turned to Chuck. "Did you just flash on Don King?"

"Why does the Intersect have this much data on that guy? Did you know he's 1/38th Dutch?"

"I thought I smelled Stroopwafel."

Morgan bounced from nowhere into Chuck's arms.

"Chuck! My fellow ridiculously wealthy social outcast!" Morgan dropped out of Chuck's arms, hopped over to Sarah, and gave her a peck on the cheek. He dropped to one knee. "Milady, I request you give leave to yonder faithful knight, that he and I may embark upon a drinking man's tour of the kingdom, or at least the greater Los Angeles county!"

Sarah laughed. "Does it have to be at this moment, Morgan? I was really hoping Chuck could talk to some--"

Morgan clamped his hands over his heart, and fell to the ground. "You wound me, Sarah! What's more important than Chuck and his oldest friend bonding over their newfound wealth in a way only two former misfits can?"

"Former?" Chuck asked.

Morgan got to his feet. "Well, yeah, Chuck," he said, exasperated. "Poor people who don't fit in are misfits. Rich people who don't fit in, however…"

"Are eccentric," Chuck said, raising an eyebrow. Morgan touched his nose with one index finger and pointed at Chuck with the other. Still in that pose, he swiveled to point at Sarah, a pleading look on his face.

Sarah laughed. "Fine. Go have fun." Morgan howled in triumph, and slapped Chuck on the back.

"Greatest. Night. Ever. I'll get my bus pass." He ran towards the employee break room as Chuck turned to Sarah.

"You sure you're okay with this?"

"Of course," Sarah said. "You deserve to blow off some steam. I'll set up the interviews with the accountants and lawyers for tomorrow. Noon okay?"

Chuck leaned in a gave Sarah a light kiss. "Noon it is." He started to walk towards Emmitt's office, noticing that Anna was lighting the sparklers for her finale.

"Besides," Chuck said, turning back to Sarah and flashing his widest grin, "How much trouble can we get into?"

* * *

_The answer to that particular question is coming in the next chapter..._


	4. Morgan Money, Morgan Problems

**Chuck vs the Jackpot**  
**Chapter 4**  
**Mo(rgan) Money, Mo(rgan) Problems**

_Custom Suits And Rare Pelts_  
_7:05 pm_

"I feel ridiculous, Morgan."

Chuck tugged at the collar of his tuxedo as Morgan paid the saleslady. "No one feels ridiculous in a custom-made tux, my man."

"They do if it's made out of crushed blue velvet."

"Are you kidding me?" Morgan spun around and threw his arms out wide, showing off his own velvet masterpiece, a perfect match for Chuck's tuxedo, with the exception that Morgan's was maroon. "How many people can say they own one of these? Just us, compadre!"

"Lucky us," Chuck muttered, straightening his tie in the mirror. He wondered what Sarah would say if she could see him. She'd probably smile that wry smile of hers, brush off his lapel, and remind him of the bright side of things. Chuck tried to imagine the bright side to wearing a velvet tuxedo - well, it _was_ really comfortable.

He glanced over at Morgan, flirting shamelessly with the saleslady and tipping her a hundred dollar bill for her "exceptional service in the face of overwhelming odds." Morgan seemed to be readily accepting his sudden wealth, whereas Chuck still felt uncomfortable with the idea of commanding that much money. Something didn't feel right about spending money he didn't earn.

A clap on his shoulder broke Chuck from his thoughts. "Almost ready to hit this town in style, my lifelong friend," Morgan said, beaming. Chuck couldn't help but smile at Morgan's excitement, and decided to do his best to give himself one night off from worry and guilt.

"Almost?"

"Well, yeah, Chuck. You're about to witness the end of an era." Morgan solemnly reached into his pocket and pulled out his bus pass.

Chuck quickly put on a face of mock concern. "Morgan… no…"

"Oh, yes, Chuck. Nancy?" Morgan held out his hand like a surgeon waiting for a scalpel, and their saleslady slapped a pair of scissors into his palm. Morgan opened the scissors, positioned them around his bus pass, and sliced the pass in two with one decisive motion. Chuck grasped the ruffles over his chest.

"The Greater Los Angeles Mass Transit System will never be the same," he bemoaned.

Morgan handed the remnants of the pass to Nancy. "Burn that along with our old clothes, doll." Nancy nodded obediently, saluted, and marched away. "Now," Morgan continued, "our journey continues. Do you know, Chuck, why I chose this particular haberdashery for our wardrobe enhancement?"

"Because it's walking distance from the 105 express?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Do you know the _other_ reason I picked this joint?"

Chuck shrugged. Morgan took hold of his arm and positioned him towards the window, directing his gaze across the street.

"Because it's a crosswalk away… from _that_."

xxx

Sarah hung up the phone, having successfully rescheduled Chuck's meetings with the CIA-approved lawyers and accountants. She supposed she should have been somewhat insulted at having been regulated to the position of Chuck's personal secretary, but for some reason it didn't bother her at all.

Her thoughts traveled to her father; at the scores of different cons he'd already have dreamed up to separate Chuck from his newfound wealth. A short con to nab a hundred grand? Or maybe a long con, something where they'd make off with a couple million. It pained her to think that her father was the type of person from whom she'd now have to protect Chuck, in addition to the ones she already was.

Sarah wondered about the implications of Chuck commanding that much money. Would it change him? Make him less interested in the missions? Make him forget about… well… certain people?

Sarah shook those thoughts from her head. This was Chuck. Money or no money, he was still Chuck.

xxx

_More Luxurious Than Necessary Motors  
__7:38pm_

"The Aston Martin DBS," the salesman intoned reverently in his cultured, British-accented voice, "is the pinnacle of design and engineering in a luxury sports car. It is speed, it is performance, it is elegance. It is, my young friends, the very personification of style."

Morgan stood, mouth agape, staring at the sleek coupe sitting in the center of the showroom floor. Chuck worried that at any moment drool would begin to flow from Morgan's mouth. He wondered if the green handkerchief stuffed into his breast pocket had any absorbent properties.

The salesman, a distinguished-looking older man, gestured at the car. "I believe this is what you had in mind," he continued, "when you requested 'the dope-est hooptie on our lot.'"

"It is indeed," Morgan gasped, finally recovering from his momentary paralysis. "I'll take it."

"Um, Morgan," Chuck interrupted, "don't you want to maybe take it for a test drive first? Or consult Consumer Reports? Or, I don't know, _ask how much it costs_?"

"I do not," Morgan replied. "But thanks for the suggestions."

"Very good, sir," the salesman nodded. "I'll have this model ordered and delivered for you in no time at all."

"Ordered?" Morgan asked. "Delivered? That sounds like it involves waiting, which does not fit into my new lifestyle of instant gratification. No, I'll take this one. Right here. Now."

Very good, sir," the salesman replied, unflappable. "Would you like the optional floor mats?"

Morgan furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. How much are they?"

Chuck slapped his hand to his forehead.

"Sir, you've been such an outstanding customer, I'll include them free of charge."

"Excellent," Morgan beamed, as he looked proudly at Chuck. Chuck nodded back and gave a thumbs up. "One more thing," Morgan said, looking back at the salesman. "I'll give you twenty thousand dollars to be our designated driver for tonight."

Chuck whipped his head around and glared at Morgan. "WHAT?"

Morgan shrugged at Chuck. "Chuck, we're about to go out and get plastered out of our minds at several different locations throughout the county. It'd be irresponsible not to have a designated driver."

"Right," Chuck deadpanned. "And paying twenty grand for that service is completely responsible."

"I like this guy," Morgan replied, turning back to the salesman. "He's classy and he sounds like Gandalf."

Chuck winced. "This is not going to end well."

"Thank you, sir," the salesman bowed. "And it would be my pleasure to chauffer you tonight."

"Outstanding," Morgan beamed, offering his hand for the salesman to shake. "What's your name?"

"It's Philip, sir," the salesman replied, accepting Morgan's hand and shaking it cordially.

"Philip…" Morgan considered that for a moment. "No, I don't think that'll work," he finally said. "From here on out, your name is Jarvis."

"Very good, sir."

xxx

_d'être riche  
__8:45pm_

The waiter brought Chuck and Morgan their respective dinners under silver domes. He lifted the domes dramatically and bowed. Chuck looked down at his plate and saw three sprigs of parsley, a mushroom, and parallelogram drawn out of some sort of brown sauce.

"Um…" Chuck said, "I think there's been a mistake. I ordered the chicken."

The waiter straightened up and raised an eyebrow. "The chicken was not right for you, monsieur. You will enjoy this more."

"But-"

The waiter turned on his heel and walked away. Chuck frowned at his dish. "This does not look like eighty dollars' worth of food."

"Don't worry about it my man," Morgan said as he cut the single lima bean on his plate. "I don't even think rich people _need_ to eat. We probably absorb nutrients from hundred dollar bills through some sort of osmosis." He popped half the lima bean into his mouth and pushed his plate away. "Ugh. I'm stuffed. Let's check out the talent." Morgan swiveled his head at the various well-dressed women populating the exclusive restaurant.

"What about Anna?" Chuck asked, trying to mop up some of the brown sauce with bread.

"Mutual realization that we each can do better now," Morgan replied, craning his neck to follow a shapely bottom. "I think she's having dinner with one of the castoffs from 'The Bachelorette' tonight."

"What? Really? You guys broke up because of the money?"

"What else could we have done?" Morgan asked, eyeing a blonde as she nibbled on 1/8th of a spinach leaf. "It's only a matter of time before we're each tempted by droves of members of the opposite sex we're now bound to reel in."

Chuck furrowed his brow. "You don't really believe that, do you? I mean, it shouldn't make any difference how much money we have, we're still the same guys."

Morgan shook his head and sighed. "Chuck, you have to understand: our newfound wealth makes us incredibly attractive to a previously unattainable echelon of women."

"Morgan, I really don't think that's-"

"Pardon me," a silkily smooth voice interrupted. Chuck and Morgan looked up from their debate to a beautiful woman with piercing blue eyes and luxuriously dark hair. She wore a form-fitting yet tasteful dress that wouldn't have been out of place at the Academy Awards. "I apologize for interrupting," she said, a hint of a smile playing at her ruby red lips, "but while you previously may have found me to be unattainable, I just wanted to let you know that I now find you incredibly attractive. Here's my number."

She laid a calligraphy-scripted card down on the table and slid it towards Morgan, pivoted gracefully, and smiled over her shoulder as she walked away. Chuck blinked twice.

"Was that Angelina Jolie?" he gasped.

"Yeah," Morgan sighed as picked up the card and tore it into shreds. "Not really looking for baby momma drama, though; know what I'm sayin', my man?"

xxx

_Santa Monica Freeway  
__9:50pm_

"Alfred!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Can't this thing go any faster?"

"Of course, sir. However, local speed limits prohibit me from doing so."

"Nonsense. If you're pulled over, I'll simply buy the LAPD a new prison."

"Very good, sir."

xxx

_Sapphire Ruby  
__10:02pm_

Chuck stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice him. It shouldn't have been that difficult - the place wasn't very crowded, and he was the only six foot four guy wearing a blue tuxedo. Still, he went ignored.

"May I offer a suggestion, sir?"

Chuck turned to see that their designated driver had joined him at the bar.

"Philip!"

"It's Alfred now, sir."

"Oh," Chuck said. "So, you're… um… taking that seriously. Okay, Alfred it is."

"Thank you, sir. As I was saying, a suggestion: Do you have any large bills on hand?"

"I do," Chuck responded, leaning towards Alfred and whispering, "but I don't like to flash it around, you know?"

"Very prudent, sir; unfortunately, it has a less than desired effect when trying to get attention from those of us in the service industry. Now, if you will - take out a hundred dollar bill, fold it twice, lean forward on the bar, and tap the bill on the bar with a slight air of impatience."

Chuck shrugged, took out a hundred, and did what Alfred instructed. After three taps, the bartender sprang to life and hurried over.

"Huh," Chuck said, turning back to Alfred. "It-" He looked around; Alfred was gone. "Worked," he said to no one.

"What can I get you, sir?" the bartender asked, smiling at the hundred dollar bill.

A generous tip later Chuck approached their table, drinks in hand, as a gorgeous blonde sauntered away. Chuck set the drinks down on the table.

"Was that Kristen Bell?"

"Yeah," Morgan replied, blowing his nose with the monogrammed handkerchief upon which the starlet had written her number. "Ol' Veronica Mars has really let herself go, man. It's tragic." He took a sip of his Purple Avalanche and shook his head sadly.

xxx

_Sunset Boulevard  
__1:08am_

"Standish, that last place was positively a morgue."

"My apologies, sir."

"No apology necessary; simply bring us to a place that befits our new social standing."

"Of course, sir."

xxx

_No name, just the atomic symbol for magnesium over the door  
__1:15am_

"-just wanted to let you know that I now find you incredibly attractive."

Natalie Portman gave a flirtatious wink as she turned and skipped merrily away. Chuck, head propped up by his arm, turned to look sideways at Morgan, who was gazing forlornly at the 1st edition copy of 'War and Peace' that the young actress had autographed with her phone number.

"Let me guess. Upset with her portrayal of Queen Amidala?"

"I suppose it wasn't her fault," Morgan sighed, using the book as a coaster. "I mean, not everyone can deliver Lucas' dialogue."

"You're officially an insane person, you know that?"

"If being selective in my choice of female companionship is insane, then I don't want to be sane, my friend."

"Not much risk of that."

xxx

_Venice Boulevard  
__2:41am_

"I'm afraid that the hour limits your choice of appropriate venues, sir."

"Smithers, I have complete faith that you will triumph over the odds."

"Your confidence is an inspiration, sir."

"That it is, Smithers; that it is."

xxx

_The Deep Pocket  
__2:45am_

Chuck grimaced as he looked around the bar. The theme seemed to be well-to-do older men and flashy younger women. Morgan, beginning to wobble a bit, clapped him on the shoulder.

"Whatsa matter, my fellow artistoca- aristocar- rich guy?"

"When I saw the name of this place, I was kind of hoping it'd be a pool hall."

"Pish," Morgan replied. "Pool. A sport for the comniners. Now, lissen. Alla these dames is after these guys 'cause they got money. They like that. But they're old, see? But us, we're young. They're gonna like that, too."

"Morgan, I think you're a little past the 'charmingly tipsy' stage. Maybe we should call it a night."

"Jus a soon as I lure one 'a these tasty morsels away from her grampa." Morgan stumbled off, a panther in search of his prey. Well, a panther with an inner ear infection.

Chuck sighed and looked around at the bar's patrons. Young women squeezed into tiny dresses, giggling at their suitor's lines. If this was how the other half lived…

Shouting from across the bar pulled Chuck from his thoughts. One voice was unfamiliar, but he recognized the other one.

"Hey! Hands off the velvet!"

Chuck cringed and rushed to the source of the commotion. As he broke through the gathering crowd, he saw a girl with a wet stain on the front of her a low-cut dress, and Morgan being held up at the lapels by someone who looked familiar. Chuck took hold of the man holding Morgan, and his eyes widened as he recognized-

"Gary Busey?"

"That's right," the wild-eyed actor sang out. "And your little Chinese friend here is about to get his soul eaten."

Chuck blinked. Twice. "Um… what?"

"Did I stutter? This little Kamikaze spills his drink on my girl, calls me 'Mr. Joshua,' and thinks he's gonna walk out of here with his Tao in line with his Chi? I don't think so."

Chuck looked at Morgan, who managed to shrug despite being held up by his coat. "Okay, putting aside the fact that he's not even remotely Asian," Chuck said, "in all fairness, you did play a character named 'Mr Joshua' in one of the most popular movies of all time."

"Yeah? Well if that's so, how come I don't remember it?"

"Could be any combination of narcotics and numerous blows to the head."

Gary Busey stared at Chuck. For a very long time. A disturbingly long time. Then, finally:

"That's probably true."

Busey let go of Morgan, and Chuck let go of Busey, breathing a sigh of relief. "Tell you what," Busey said. "If the Eskimo here cleans up the mess he made, we'll call it no hard feelings."

Morgan straightened his jacket and attempted a regal salute. "Asbolutely," he slurred. He turned towards the girl with the wet dress, pulled out his handkerchief, and proceeded to stuff it down the front of her dress as her (and everyone else's) eyed widened in shock.

"This does not have very absorbent properties," Morgan lamented.

"Okay, first one's free," Chuck said.

Busey punched Morgan across the jaw, and a moment later Chuck grabbed Busey and spun him into the crowd. He connected with an older man who apparently took offense, and punched Busey in the gut.

Suddenly the whole place went haywire, with fights breaking out all over. Chuck tried to make his way over to Morgan, but was stopped by a hand clamped on his shoulder. The hand spun him around to face-

"David Hasselhoff?"

"You hassle with Busey," the tanned actor growled, "you hassle with the Hoff." As he drew his arm back, Chuck closed his eyes and braced for the impact. But a loud crash sounded, and Chuck found himself unhurt. He opened his eyes to see-

"Philip?"

Their designated driver stood over Hasselhoff's fallen form, dusting his sleeves off.

"Mr. Grimes has seen fit to address me as Duckworth for the moment, sir."

"Uh… okay…" A chair flew past Chuck's head. "Thanks for the save."

"I have been charged with the occupation of seeing you and Mr. Grimes safely home, sir," Duckworth said, reaching out to snatch a flying bottle out of the air before it could connect with Chuck's head and setting it gently down on the bar. "I take that assignment very seriously."

"Cadbury!" Morgan's voice rose over the din. Chuck and Cadbury turned to see Morgan struggling to get out of a half-nelson. "They're ruffling my ruffles!"

Cadbury faced Chuck for a moment. "Pardon me, sir." He strode gracefully towards Morgan, stepping briefly to the side to avoid a stumbling brawl participant before resuming his calm journey. Chuck stared in disbelief.

"Best… car salesman… ever."

xxx

_Casa Bartowski_  
_4:18am_

After dropping an unconscious Morgan off on Chuck's living room couch, Chuck and Cadbury went out to the courtyard and stood by the fountain.

"Are you all right, sir?" Cadbury asked.

Chuck gingerly touched a sore spot on his cheek that was sure to sport a bruise the following day. "All things considered, Cadbury; it could have been much worse."

"Well said, sir."

"You know, I'm not really comfortable with all the 'sir' stuff. It's Chuck." Chuck held his hand out.

Cadbury paused. "In that case," he said, "I suppose you should call me Philip." He shook Chuck's hand, and they grinned.

"You need a ride home, Philip?"

"Thank you, s- Chuck, but I have a service I can call. If you have no further need of my services, I'll be on my way."

"Yeah, of course," Chuck said. "Thanks for taking care of us."

"My pleasure, Chuck."

Philip turned and took a few steps away, and Chuck opened his door. Before he could enter-

"Chuck."

Chuck turned to look at Philip again.

"What's money?" Philip said. "A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do."

Chuck smiled. "James Joyce?"

Philip smiled back. "Bob Dylan."

Philip turned and walked out of the complex. Chuck watched him go, a grin on his face. A moment later, a groggy Morgan made his way to Chuck's side.

"Where'd Benson go?"

"I don't know, little buddy," Chuck said. "But I do know this. You didn't pay him enough."

* * *

_Why can't I do the little dashes to seperate sections anymore? It's stupid and it makes me angry. _


	5. Crown Vics and Sins of the Father

_I think this is the record for time between updates. Kind of an explanation at the end. _

_I swear, I wrote this before "Chuck vs The Ring Part Two." But, you don't have to believe me. I mean, that's not why I can't seem to sleep lately. Really, I'm fine._

* * *

**Chuck vs the Jackpot**  
**Chapter 5**  
**Crown Vics and Sins of the Father**

"What do you want, Bartowski?"

Chuck stood at the doorway to Casey's apartment, peering in through the crack that Casey had allowed. "Um... can you come out for a minute? Just wanted to talk to you."

"If you're coming here for investment advice, I recommend Bernie Madoff."

"Funny. Actually, I wanted to give you something."

There was a pensive grunt, and finally the door swung open. Casey followed Chuck out to the parking lot, where a gleaming 1985 Ford Crown Victoria sat. Casey looked at the car for a moment, obviously schooling his features. Finally, he spoke up.

"Looks pretty good. You must have paid some money for it, not that it matters to you anymore, Rockefeller."

Chuck ignored the jab as Casey walked slowly around the car, inspecting it. "Where'd you find her?"

"Actually, this is the one that I blew up."

Casey spun around and stared, wide-eyed, at Chuck. "What? How-"

"I'm not going to lie to you Big Guy; it wasn't easy," Chuck said, idly fiddling with the door handle. "I tracked it down at the salvage yard where the CIA had it taken after the whole… you know… missile thing." Chuck looked nervously over at Casey, who narrowed his eyes at the memory. Chuck continued.

"It was just a burnt out shell at that point, but I bought it and had it brought to a restoration specialist who stripped it completely and straightened out the frame. He rebuilt it from scratch, using the materials I specified."

"Materials?" Casey asked. "What are you-"

"The body panels," Chuck continued, "are a special Kevlar blend polymer. Completely bullet proof, and-" Chuck took a step back and kicked his heel, as hard as he could, into the door. Casey flinched, but the door panel simply rippled for a split second and then returned to its pristine state. "-dent resistant," Chuck smiled.

Casey stared, speechless, as Chuck opened the door. "The interior is custom-made to appear exactly as the stock seats did, but they're made from Coach leather. The 'wood grain' on the dashboard is actually real walnut. And the instrument panel is my personal favorite part."

Chuck leaned into the car and turned the key to power it on. The gauges and controls looked exactly as they should. Casey squinted to see what Chuck was talking about. "I don't-"

"That's stealth mode," Chuck said as he flipped a hidden switch under the dashboard. Suddenly the gauges dropped down, the controls flipped, and the glove box slid back to reveal digital readouts and LCD screens. Casey's mouth dropped open.

"GPS, infrared video, radar, onboard computer, and a little something I'm sure you're going to appreciate," Chuck said, tapping a touchscreen control in the center of the dash. A series of graphs appeared on the main display that Casey recognized immediately.

"Ballistic missile countermeasures," he whispered, in awe.

"I can personally guarantee that no one will be blowing this Crown Vic up, ever again," Chuck said proudly. "One more thing to show you. Pop the hood, will you?" Chuck pulled the key from the ignition and got out of the car as Casey, still stunned, found the hood release and pulled it.

Chuck walked to the front of the car and raised the hood. Casey looked underneath and made a noise Chuck couldn't quite identify.

"Shelby GT-500 engine," Casey finally drawled out.

"Nice catch, but there's a little bit more to it that that," Chuck said. "She's got the Ford Racing Supercharger upgrade kit, which is capable of producing over 600 horsepower and 590 ft.-lbs. of torque. 6-speed transmission, performance exhaust system, performance suspension tuning including dynamic adjustable dampers, lowering springs, tuned stabilizer bars, and front strut tower brace."

Chuck turned towards Casey and smirked. "I had to memorize that and practice it in the mirror all night. No idea what any of it means." Chuck dropped the hood and gave it an affectionate pat. "And, best of all, every single part of this car is made in the good old U S of A."

"Bartowski… why?"

"Because I figured if I let them use stuff from China, you'd get ticked off."

"No," Casey said, shaking his head. "Why did you do this… for me?"

"Well, I _did_ blow it up. I figure it's only right that I have it fixed. And it seems kind of silly not to throw in a few bells and whistles." Chuck grew serious. "And besides. I know this assignment drives you nuts. I know _I_ drive you nuts. But you managed to not let that get in the way of saving my life more times than I can count. So, for that you get my undying gratitude, Casey. But you can't drive gratitude, so…" Chuck held the keys out to Casey.

Casey took the keys from Chuck and stared at them in his hand. Without warning, he lurched forward and enveloped Chuck in a python-like embrace. Chuck's eyes bulged.

"You… friend," Casey managed to force out.

He released Chuck, who stumbled back a step. Casey quickly turned to get into the Crown Vic. He slid in behind the wheel and paused for a moment before putting the key into the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Sarah approached and stood next to Chuck.

"Is he crying?" she asked.

"Don't judge," Chuck smiled. "It's man stuff."

"I still say you should have gone with my idea."

"I don't think a prosthetic toe would have gotten the same reaction."

"It would have been hilarious, though."

Casey pulled slowly out of the parking spot, and was gone with a squeal of tires and what sounded like a primal scream. Chuck turned to Sarah. "How'd it go with my other protectors?"

"Fine," she said, looking up at Chuck and smiling. "Perry and Jean say they can take care of everything. By this time tomorrow, Ellie and Devon's med school loans will be a memory."

"Great," Chuck said, squeezing Sarah's hand. "Thanks for taking care of that. I really wanted to do this for Casey, and it was a lot more involved than I thought."

"No problem," Sarah said cheerily, squeezing Chuck's hand back. "I was happy to do it."

Chuck smiled wide at the contact. "So, I suppose that leaves just one person left to lavish with expensive gifts," he said, waggling his eyebrows at Sarah.

Sarah's smile faded. "Chuck..."

"You were a tough one, let me tell you. What do you get the girl who's been all over the world, lived in five star hotels and flown in private jets, and drives a Porsche?"

Sarah let go of Chuck's hand and crossed her arms over her chest. "Chuck, I don't want you to get me anything. I'm not..." Her voice trailed off and she looked away from Chuck, into the distance.

"You're not what?"

"I'm not someone you need to throw money at. I'm not going to feel any differently about you because of how much you spend on me."

Chuck smiled again. "I was counting on that," he said. "Because even though yours was the most expensive gift, I didn't spend a dime on you."

Sarah cocked her head. "How... what do you mean?"

"Well, I called in a few favors with General Beckman and some of the CIA analysts to follow up on a hunch I've had ever since I learned about your father's... interesting history."

Sarah's brow furrowed, but Chuck continued. "I found out that a sizeable amount from each of your paychecks goes to a fund you set up a long time ago to pay back all of the people Jack Burton – via his various aliases - has conned over the years."

Chuck shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground. "I know that it's none of my business. And maybe you're angry with me for interfering. But while I think it's very noble of you to try and right the wrongs he's committed, I also don't think that you should bear the burden of your father's sins." He looked up at Sarah, who's face had become her usual unemotional mask.

"So, the running total is $563,000 and some change. I've had that amount moved into the fund. Now, it's up to you if you want to keep contributing to the fund, keep fixing your father's mistakes. But if you can tolerate my opinion on it..."

Chuck stepped closer, took Sarah's hands, and moved into her line of vision. "You can do one of two things. You can keep carrying this guilt over what your father does until it eventually overwhelms you, or you can come to dinner with me and listen to an idea I have about what to do with the rest of my money."

Sarah finally met Chuck's eyes, and the mask slipped. "You already know what the first option is like," Chuck smiled. "Why not hear me out on the second one?"

Sarah's lip quivered as a tear ran down her cheek. She threw her arms around Chuck's neck and hugged him as hard as she could, whispering in his ear:

"You're an amazing man."

Chuck rubbed his hand gently up and down Sarah's back. "Please," he whispered. "I'm fantastic."

Sarah laughed, released him from the hug, and slapped him playfully on the arm. "Nice to see that wealth hasn't changed you."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Chuck smiled, offering his arm to Sarah, who took it. As they walked towards her car: "Having that much money never really suited me, so I figure it's high time I did something about it. There's just one thing."

"What's that?" Sarah asked, cuddled into his side as they walked.

"You mind buying dinner? I just feel like I've been spending way too much money lately."

* * *

_Final chapter is next. Did anyone catch the "Firefly" reference?_

_So, this story is so old that I actually had the Crown Vic portion written before the S3 finale, where Morgan and Devon stumble across Casey's high-tech Crown Vic. I groaned out loud and pretty much shelved the story. But, time heals all wounds and now I like to believe that this is how Casey got that car. La la la..._

_-Nick_


	6. A Shadowy Flight Into A Dangerous World

**Chuck vs the Jackpot**  
**Chapter 6**  
**A Shadowy Flight Into A Dangerous World...**

SIX MONTHS LATER

Carina Miller paused outside the three-story greystone building and double-checked the address on her phone. Confirming that she was in the right place, she walked inside to find a modest looking front office. She raised an eyebrow, however, when she saw the alarmingly handsome man sitting uncomfortably at the front desk. He looked up from stapling papers together and woodenly asked:

"May I help you?"

Before Carina could respond, a familiar voice called out from the back offices.

"Daniel, is that how we welcome our guests?" Daniel cringed, but managed to force an awkward smile onto his face.

"I'm sorry, _sir_," he called back, before turning his attention back to Carina. "Welcome to the Walker Foundation, where we love it... when a plan comes together." Daniel cringed throughout the greeting, gripping his stapler with white knuckles.

"Much better," the voice said. A moment later Chuck Bartowski emerged from the hallway leading to the back offices, in a sportcoat and open collared shirt. "Nice to see you, Carina," he smiled.

Carina appraised him seductively. "Looking good, Chuckie," she replied, sauntering closer while Daniel huffed and returned to his stapling. She ran a finger down the lapel of Chuck's sportcoat. "_Very_ good."

Chuck cleared his throat nervously. "Oh- um- thank- I mean-" Chuck breathed in deep and composed himself, taking Carina's arm and manipulating it into a handshake. "Thank you. It's nice to see you. I said that already. Well, it is."

Carina took mercy on Chuck and changed the subject. "Who's the stiff?"

"Agent Daniel Shaw of the CIA," Chuck responded. "General Beckman insisted that he be assigned here as part of our protective detail. I made him the receptionist. I can't explain why, but I have this completely irrational dislike of him."

"I can hear you, you know," Shaw sighed. "I'm sitting three feet away."

"I know, Danny," Chuck replied. "I don't care." He turned back to Carina. "See? That's not like me."

"It isn't," Carina nodded. "And he's done nothing to deserve this?"

"Absolutely not. I mean, it's not like he sent me on a bunch of dangerous missions unprepared, stole my girl, took over as the head of a shadowy underground organization and then shot my dad, or anything. I just plain don't like the guy."

"Sitting right here, stapling stuff," Shaw called out. "Hearing every word."

"See?" Chuck asked as he gestured towards Shaw. "Weird."

Carina shrugged as Sarah emerged from the back offices. "Carina!" She stepped over and hugged her friend as Shaw stood up.

"Ms. Walker, you have several messages-"

"_Shut your pie hole, Shaw!"_ Sarah yelled, turning and pointing a finger at the agent, who cowered back into his seat. "What's my policy on you speaking to me?"

Shaw twiddled his thumbs nerviously. "Only if I'm on fire?"

Sarah took a lighter out of her pocket and flicked it on. "How important is what you were about to say?" Shaw swiveled his seat so that he was facing away from Sarah, and pretended to organize his desk.

Chuck met Carina's shocked gaze. "Oh, about that. Sarah _reeeally_ doesn't like him."

"It's completely a mystery to me," Sarah said, putting the lighter back in her pocket. "The guy just brings my inner psycho out."

"I think it's adorable," Chuck shrugged.

"Well, would you like the grand tour?" Sarah asked Carina brightly. Carina nodded, speechless, and the three stepped into the back area.

Shaw sighed sadly. "I hate this assignment."

XXX

"This is what we call the 'Cortex,' Chuck said proudly as they walked into a large area with several analysts sitting at desks with computer terminals. "We're patched in to every police database in the country here. I designed a data mining program to go through every single police report to locate a certain type of crime. Then, our analysts examine the selected reports and determine which victims are in need of our services. What do you think?"

Carina nodded a few times, than looked blankly at Chuck. "Oh. I'm sorry, I fell asleep after you said "data mining program."

"Funny," Chuck groused.

"The gist of it is that we look for people who have been taken advantage of," Sarah explained. "So now, instead of having cover jobs, we run the Foundation. We help people who have been conned by anyone- from big corporations all the way down to individual con artists- get their money and their lives back."

"Just like Knight Rider," Chuck grinned.

Sarah winced. "It's actually not like Knight Rider. At all."

"How can you keep saying that?" Chuck cried. "We go from town to town, we help people in need, we leave without being thanked..."

"That's the Lone Ranger."

"It's Knight Rider, too," Chuck pouted.

"I'm not approving the purchase of a 1982 Trans Am, so you can just stop asking."

Chuck stuffed his hands in his pockets and grumbled, "Man... I wanna _be_ Knight Rider."

"Guys?" Carina asked. "Can we focus, maybe?"

Morgan rushed into the Cortex and called out to the group.

"Boss!"

Sarah turned at his call. "Yes?"

"Got some good news. Can we hit the conference room?" Without waiting for an answer, Morgan marched off down the hallway. Sarah and Chuck followed, with Carina hurrying behind them.

"Wait, I thought this was Chuck's operation?"

Chuck laughed. "Me? No, this is Sarah all the way. I take care of the tech stuff and help out on the recovery as much as I can, but Sarah is the brains behind everything. So far we've got a 100% recovery rate for the people we help, and we're already planning on branching out to other cities."

They reached a modest looking conference room, where Morgan had already taken a seat at the head of the table. He activated an overhead screen when the others walked in, only then noticing Carina.

"Oh. Hey, Carrieanne. I didn't see you there before. Nice to see you again."

Carina scowled as she and the others sat down. "Actually, it's-"

"Got the preliminary results on the reinvestment fund, and it's way past expectations," Morgan interrupted. Carina seethed and sunk into her seat as he continued. "As you can see, returns are already in excess of twelve percent. Now, I think, if we were to diversify just a bit more, take advantage of the industrial expansion in India-"

"Morgan," Sarah interrupted. "You know we trust you with this. If you're looking for a go-ahead, you have it." Morgan beamed.

"Ah. Music to my ears, milady." Morgan stood, shutting off the overhead. "In that case, I'll get started." He moved towards the door, but stopped when Philip stepped into the room.

"Higgins! Just the man I was headed to see. The Boss says Operation Insource is a go."

"Very good, sir. I shall make the necessary arrangements." Higgins stepped aside to let Morgan exit. "Quickly, Ma'am, Nathan Ford informs me that he would be more than happy to assist with the 'Dream Job.' He says he's very much looking forward to, and I quote, 'Stealing us a software company.'"

"Thank you, Philip," Sarah smiled. "And please let Mr. Ford know that the less we know about his methods the better."

"I shall, Ma'am." Higgins nodded towards the other occupants of the room, "Ms. Miller, Chuck," and exited.

Sarah turned to Carina. "We farm out some of the shadier stuff."

Carina was still scowling, looking at the doorway. "Who cares? Who was that little bearded guy?" Chuck rolled his eyes.

"That was Morgan. You met him around the same time you met me, remember? He's turned out to be kind of an idiot savant when it comes to investing."

Carina's face softened as she stood up. "Morgan? Really? That's interesting. Whereas he previously may have found me to be unattainable, I now find him incredibly attractive. I'm gonna... just..." Carina gestured vaguely in the direction Morgan had gone, and then trotted off.

"Like anyone didn't see that coming," Chuck mused.

"We should go," Sarah said, standing up. "We're going to be late for the concert."

Chuck groaned. "We're seriously going to go to that?"

"They're your friends, Chuck," Sarah said, guiding Chuck towards the parking lot exit. "You should support them."

"Last time I checked, they didn't need my support," Chuck grumbled. "How did 'Jeffster Lives' end up as the top grossing tour of the year?"

"I'm guessing the opening act helped. I hear David Hasselhoff is very big in Germany."

"Yeah, well, in person he's kind of mean."

Sarah scrunched up her nose. "How would you know- you know what? I don't want to know."

"It's for the best."

"Well," Sarah said as they approached the door, "I want to thank you."

"For what?"

"For this," Sarah said, gesturing around them. "It's a wonderful thing you've done for the less fortunate." She brushed an invisible piece of lint off of Chuck's sportcoat. "And for the more fortunate."

Chuck smiled. "The more fortunate? Who might that be?"

"Me," Sarah responded, stepping closer and tilting her head up to get closer to Chuck. "Because I have you." She went up on her toes, taking hold of Chuck's lapels and kissing him softly. Chuck kissed her back, a hand on the small of her back. They broke away after a moment.

"You do," he said, grinning as wide as he could. "Head to toe, and everything in between."

"Mmm. I'm going to have to take inventory of that later tonight."

"Oh, you can't say that and then make me sit through three hours of Jeffster."

"I can't?" Sarah asked innocently.

"You can't," Chuck responded, brushing her nose with his.

"Well, then," Sarah sighed, grabbing the door handle, "Let me make it up to you."

Sarah flung the door open to reveal a black 1982 Pontiac Trans Am sitting in the parking lot. Chuck's mouth dropped open, and he turned to Sarah excitedly.

"Seriously?"

Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes. "Seriously."

Chuck swept Sarah up into a bear bug. "You are the definition of awesome."

"And you are the strangest man I've ever met," came the muffled reply. Chuck released her and she held out a set of keys. Grinning, he grabbed the keys and ran over to open the passenger door. Shaking her head but laughing, Sarah walked over and got in the car. Chuck shut the door and raced over to get in the driver's seat.

"Oh, man! It's got the KITT voice box!" he exclaimed, pointing at the red flashing light above the gearshift. "Does it talk? Hello?"

"Hello, Chuck," came a sophisticated voice from within the box.

Chuck's eyes bulged. He turned to Sarah. "Is the car really speaking to me?"

"Actually, that's Philip on a walkie- talkie."

Chuck started the engine and shrugged. "Meh. Close enough."

Chuck threw the car into gear, and they sped off into the night.

* * *

_Can you tell what I do for a living? Everyone gets a car! Yay! Also, this story ended up with waaay more David Hasselhoff references than I originally intended. I originally intended for there to be none. _

_Hey, know what I just found out? I can not, for the life of me, figure out how to write Carina. Just can't do it. _

_Anyway, this was a fun one to do. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I like you. I like the people who read but didn't review, sure; I just like the people who reviewed more. _

_Special thanks goes out to **Course Jester**, who reminded me that "Higgins" somehow flew under my radar. Philip's return in this chapter is completely due to that fact. _

_Okay, ransom time. At the time of this posting, I have a grand total of 99 reviews. If this story hits 150 reviews, I will write and publish an epilogue with Chuck and Sarah at the dinner from the end of Ch5, talking about what to do with the money. I know, it's dirty, but I'm feeling particularly manipulative right now. I apologize for nothing. _

_-Nick_


	7. epilogue: Spitballing

_Well, we're nine reviews short of my ransom demand of 150, but if you give **Doc in Oz**'s excellent "Chuck Gets His Old Life Back" a look, you'll see why I decided to give in and write the epilogue to this one. John, if your theory proves correct, I'm coming to your neck of the woods to buy you dinner and some sort of a vehicle. _

_This takes place directly after the events in Chapter Five._

* * *

**Chuck vs The Jackpot**

**Epilogue**

**Spitballing**

_El Compadre_

_7pm_

Chuck pointed to a particular booth. "Can we have that one?" he asked the hostess, who smiled congenially and led him and Sarah towards the booth in question.

"Well, aren't you just adorable."

Chuck shrugged. "We opened one chapter here, seems only fitting we start the next one at the same place."

"Assuming I'm in."

Chuck nodded. "Right. Of course. Assuming you're in."

The two of them sat down and took a moment to drink in their surroundings. Little if anything had changed about the restaurant where they'd had their first "date," with the possible exception of Chuck and Sarah themselves.

"A lot's happened in two years," Chuck said.

"A lot more than usual," Sarah replied.

Chuck nodded, thoughtful. "I had a hard time with it at first," he finally said. "I'd been in this… I don't know, this self-imposed exile after Stanford and Bryce and Jill-"

"Jill," Sarah said, scowling.

"She who shall not be named?"

"Better."

Chuck tipped an imaginary hat in response. "Anyway, I'd been doing the same thing, over and over again, for years by the time you came into my life. You know the saying that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result?"

"Except with slot machines."

Chuck blinked. Twice. "Um…"

Sarah shrugged. "I like gambling. Sue me."

"Seriously? I wouldn't have guessed."

"Says the guy who just won twenty million dollars in the lottery."

"Point. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that we've got a pretty unique opportunity here. My money, your… experience…"

Sarah leaned closer. "I'm listening."

XXX

_El Compadre_

_8:30pm_

Chuck gestured wildly with his arms, almost knocking over one of their several empty frozen margarita glasses.

"—and it'll be JUST like Knight Rider!"

Sarah squinted at Chuck through her tequila haze. And her lack of pop-culture knowledge. "Who?"

Chuck visibly deflated. "Are you kidding me? Talking Trans-Am? David Hasselhoff?"

"I recognize those individual words, but not the combination in which you've placed them."

"I'll explain later. But you get the gist of it, right? We help people who've been conned! We get them their money back!"

"I get the gist of it."

"And man, we'd be so good at it! You, for instance, know so much about—" Chuck lowered his voice and glanced around before continuing in a whisper- "the not-so-legal part of it, and I have all this ridiculous money now, and some not-too-shabby computer skills, if I may say so myself." Chuck huffed a breath onto his nails and polished them on his shirt. Sarah laughed.

"You may say so, yes."

"So, what do you think?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "I love the idea, Chuck."

Chuck beamed, then noticed the hesitant look on Sarah's face. "But," he said, sobering.

"But," Sarah repeated, "I'm a little concerned about why you're doing it."

Chuck gestured wildly again. "Ha!"

"Okay, that's not the reaction I was expecting."

"I knew you'd say that! I did! I seriously did!" Chuck leaned back into the cushions of the booth. "I. Knew it."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations?"

Chuck leaned in as close as he could, and lowered his voice. "You think I'm doing this just to make you happy."

Sarah's mouth dropped open. Chuck continued.

"You think that I'd do anything to make you happy, including risking my entire new fortune on what basically amounts to a charity organization with no profit margin."

"Uh… something like that, yeah."

"Well," Chuck said, leaning back again. "You're absolutely right."

Sarah shook her head. "Chuck—"

"I would do anything to make you happy, Sarah. I really would. So about the first part, you're right. But, listen – slot machines notwithstanding, the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I've done that for years with the BuyMore, with my relationships, even with the way I've approached…"

Chuck looked around and then leaned in again. "…what we do. So, now I have this money. I could do just about anything with it, but this way, we don't have to worry about a civilian cover anymore. Most of the stuff we'll be doing will deal with a certain criminal element anyway, so there's nothing to explain away. I'll get to use my fortune for good, my computer skills for something other than coffee spills, and…" He paused.

"What?" Sarah asked, entranced.

"If I get to make you happy along the way," Chuck smiled, miming a vague cylindrical object in front of him. "Icing. Cake."

Sarah smiled back. "Assuming I'm in."

Chuck nodded. Yes. Of course. Assuming you're in."

XXX

_El Compadre_

_12:15am_

"Okay, I'm gonna say something here, just bear with me. Tee shirts. Corporate logo on the front."

"I can get behind that," Sarah said, nodding as she searched for the remnants of her fourth margarita using her straw.

"And then something related to the A-Team on the back."

"And now I'm back in front of that."

"You know who the A-Team are but you don't know who Knight Rider is?"

"You've met Casey, right?"

"Point."

The waitress suddenly appeared at their table. "Folks, we closed fifteen minutes ago."

Sarah, surprised by the woman's sudden appearance, grabbed the straw out of her glass and brandished it like a dagger. "Holy crap! Where did you come from?"

The waitress took a half step back. "Um… the kitchen?"

"A likely story," Sarah sneered.

"Sarah, honey, I think she's okay."

"Siding with the brunette, Chuck? Figures."

"Miss, you're aware that's a straw, right?" The waitress smirked.

"Great idea, lady. Beg my girlfriend to kill you with a half-gram piece of plastic. Can we have the check, please?"

XXX

_Max's Up All Nite_

_12:30am_

"I still think you should have let me shank her."

"Shank? Seriously? Are we in a prison movie?"

"You wish."

"I do, kinda."

"Can we focus back on the matter at hand? If we're going to do this – I mean, assuming I'm in…"

"Right. Of course. Assuming you're in."

"Then we've got to figure a lot of important things out, as soon as possible. We can't afford any distractions."

An attractive, dark-haired hostess approached Chuck and Sarah. She eyed Chuck up and down. "Well, hello handsome." She looked at Sarah. "And hi to you too, I guess. Table or booth?"

"Give me a straw," Sarah growled.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing!" Chuck blurted out. "We were actually just leaving."

XXX

_Dunkin' Donuts_

_12:32am_

"If we're going to do this, you're also going to have to start controlling your anger."

"Yeah, well, if we're going to do this, you're going to need to let me shank people every now and then."

The blonde behind the counter apparently hadn't heard that last bit of conversation. "Hi, can I take your order?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes at the girl. "Bottle or natural?"

The girl, oddly, didn't miss a beat. "Natural."

Sarah nodded sagely. "You're okay, sister."

Chuck shook his head. "Clearly, I'm not drunk enough."

XXX

_Dunkin' Donuts_

_2:01am_

"We'll need someone very organized, good people skills, a good multitasker who stays calm in a crisis."

Chuck thought back to his and Morgan's designated driver from a few nights ago. "I may know someone like that. And Casey can handle recon and the occasional intimidation."

"I'm pretty intimidating."

"No one's arguing that. But I think you'll be a lot more valuable running the place."

Sarah looked up from her coffee. "Running it? I thought you'd—"

Chuck shook his head. "Me? No way. I mean, sure, put me in charge of a bunch of slacker computer geeks; sure, I'll keep the wheels turning. But for something like this?" He stirred another sugar into his cup. "You're the obvious choice to run it."

Sarah's brow furrowed. "Assuming I'm in."

"Yeah. Of course. Assuming you're in."

The two were silent for a moment, both thinking furiously. Finally Chuck spoke up.

"And Morgan can—"

"Stop right there," Sarah interrupted. "Morgan can most certainly not."

"You don't even know what I was going to suggest."

"Did it contain even the slightest amount of importance?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then Morgan can not."

"He's going to worm his way in one way or another," Chuck sighed. I thought maybe he could handle investments."

"Investments," Sarah deadpanned. "The guy who blew loaned rent money on a DeLorean is going to invest your fortune."

"I don't know," Chuck shrugged. "At this point I'm just spitballing."

Sarah shook her head and smiled. "That's not spitballing, Chuck." She grabbed a straw, ripped off the paper sheath, and chewed on a bit of the paper.

"You wouldn't."

A moment later, Chuck had the saliva-soaked paper remnant stuck in the dead center of his forehead. He smiled a crooked smile. "First and foremost, you have impeccable aim."

"I thank you."

"More importantly, you've challenged the master of the paper projectile." He picked up a straw, ripped off an end of the paper, and blew through the straw to shoot the wrapping at Sarah, who laughed and swatted it out of the air.

"Okay, I'm going to need to ask you two to leave," the girl behind the counter said.

XXX

_Casa Bartowski_

_2:38am_

"Kicked out of a donut shop by a teenager in a paper hat," Sarah mused.

Chuck turned to face Sarah when they reached the apartment door. "You've come a long way, baby."

"Hm." Sarah looked up at Chuck. "I had fun tonight."

Chuck smiled and took a step closer to Sarah. "Could be like this a lot, you know. No more cover stuff."

Sarah breathed deep, shifting a little closer to Chuck. "No more secrets, no more lies."

"Doing good deeds in between saving the world on a regular basis."

"Never scooping another gummy bear again."

Chuck laughed, and took another step. He and Sarah were face to face. "Assuming you're in," he whispered.

Sarah's expression grew serious. She took hold of Chuck's collar, leaned up and kissed him. Chuck returned the kiss, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Finally, they broke apart and touched their foreheads together.

"Please. I'm in. You know I'm in. I was in when you said 'Listen to an idea I have.'"

Chuck beamed. "Then I suppose we should get started."

"Tomorrow," Sarah said, trailing kisses down Chuck's neck. "Tonight, I have some other ideas."

"I like other ideas," Chuck said, shivering at the contact. "I'm always open to different points of view."

"Of course you realize," Sarah said, guiding Chuck back up against the door, "that you just made me your new boss."

Chuck reached behind him and fumbled the door open. "I didn't think it was possible, but you just got hotter."

The two stumbled into the apartment. Sarah kicked the door shut.

* * *

_Aaand that's that. As always, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I know I went off the rails a bunch of times with this one (I couldn't resist having the Adorable Psycho rear her head a few times), but it was a lot of fun to write. Hope you like it. _

_Nick_


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